Friday, April 27, 2007

Bleeding Dry

"how you emphasize me…"He said [with his dictator’s jaw and assassin tongue and everything voice…]

…Your brittle bones are the only things holding your skin on and keeping you from being a puddle of water on the floor beside my bed. Your skeleton is a doll's to mine. Your little bones feel underdeveloped and hollow, and could fit inside of mine. But for those ribs I would shatter every bone in my body…

I didn't respond; he spoke on [my lips, he spoke against my lips]

…My girl, your lips are your punctuation, they give every sentence you whisper the necessary pull, or drag, or slice. Everything you say kisses me and I am constantly fumbling my inadequate lips in an attempt to love them back. I stumble with kisses and you blow yours away with indifference. I find them later in the cracks in the walls…

I blinked. I should have known better.

…You trap me inside your head when you blink. I am using my hands to free myself from behind black eyeliner and waiting until you open those dark eyes to the light, that’s when I fall out. I am blind and confused next to you. The way you see is the way I don’t.

I wanted to undo him so I drew blood from my arm.

…I don’t even think I bleed so red. I probably don’t even bleed anymore…

He wasn't bleeding, but I was. He's always making me question his definitions of beauty, and I came to a realization as i bled there in his dust covered bedroom.

...even your tears sparkle more than anything I could create.

He says these things, yet won't cry, doesn't bleed, and has rough skin. He doesn't even understand beauty, and if he's wrong, than what am I?